


The water's at your neck...

by wheremyinhalerat (bearsquares)



Series: But in my dreams we're still screaming [3]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Asexual Character, Asexuality, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Diary/Journal, Dissociative Amnesia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Novel, M/M, One Shot, Spoilers, bookverse, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsquares/pseuds/wheremyinhalerat
Summary: "It was his eyes that gave him away. I remembered his soft brown eyes tirelessly peering through his binoculars, curiously scanning through my books, fixing mine with a long suffering look whenever our friends got too rowdy. That mild presence, his subtle half-smile, his wavy hair that was still lighter on top than it was at the bottom - it was Stan Uris down to a T."





	The water's at your neck...

**Author's Note:**

> We're staring at the sun  
> Oh my own voice  
> Cannot save me now  
> Standing in the sea  
> It's just  
> One more breath  
> And then  
> I'll go down 
> 
> -TVOTR

**June 6th, 1985**

 

I started nodding off again but I was just hit with a memory out of nowhere. The conversation I had with Richie before he left must have triggered something besides a bunch of crying. I'm so damn tired of crying, but it's the only way I know how to grab on to the last of my memories of the others before they finally fade out. I'm pinching myself to stay awake (literally and figuratively) but it turns out I still have stuff hiding up in my head and it's time I get it out.

I could probably go deeper, but the thing I remembered really started back when I was still playing football in college. It was after practice in early November and, like every day, I showered quickly so I could get home and study. I had just grabbed my towel when I heard “Hanlon, c’mere a minute!” It was one of my less likable teammates who had called me over.

I hate that I can remember Mark Dowdy but I've forgotten ~~Eric~~ Eddie's last name.

Mark was this white kid who couldn't keep his mouth shut (not in a good way - not like Richie). He was a good 4 inches shorter than me but almost twice as wide. The guy could put the hurt on anyone he managed to tackle so we were cool on the field but I mostly ignored him. That afternoon, though, he was changing with a few of the other guys in their usual corner where they talked shit after practice. Everyone knows about locker room talk, it's a true-to-life movie trope at this point, but I hated having to listen to it on a daily basis.

“What's up, Dowdy?” I called behind me.

“Fellas and I got a question for ya.”

It was usually something stupid about being black since it was just me and one other guy who had skin darker than mashed potatoes. “Alright…”

He had this exaggerated look of curiosity on his face, rubbing his chin and everything. “Weren’t you going steady with Nina Foster?”

Correct - I dated Nina for a couple of weeks after I met her at a party. We got to talking, one thing led to another, and she asked to spend more time together. I honestly never considered dating her, partly because she was white and mostly because I wasn't sexually attracted to her but I figured _why the hell not_. She was a sophomore with ginger-blonde hair, plenty nice and hardworking. Nina caught hell from a lot of folks for dating a black guy but I picked up on some genuine feelings from her. I wish I’d felt the same. Things got to the point where she reached her threshold for patience and wanted to have sex. Even after getting to know her better and going as far as kissing her, I couldn't bring myself to do it. It wasn’t that I didn’t find her attractive, I just _couldn't_.

Long story short, we agreed to break it off. I never really saw her again after that.

The whole experience of dating Nina Foster left me confused.

So I said, “yeah, I was.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Dowdy says. I got pretty mad at that. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Hanlon, half of us have been trying to get with her for months. Upstanding gent like yourself dumps her, she’s gotta have clap or something.”

That statement always stuck with me because it reminded me of something. It wasn't until Beverly came back, and I actually saw her and hugged her and talked to her, that I remembered how people talked about her.  _If she doesn't want me or the things I feel entitled to do to her, there must be something wrong with her_. I always forgot that the six of us guys learned that women were treated like appliances at a very young age. Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if all of us had someone we could care for like we care for Bev. Ben is finding out firsthand right now, I bet. I'm glad for them. Anyway -

“No, nothing wrong. Just wasn’t that into her.”

Dowdy gave me this sneer that really pissed me off. “You a fag or something?”

I _hated_ locker room talk. I took a step toward him then. I was easily the tallest on the team and it felt pretty good to make a couple of white boys shrink back a little. I asked them if we were done and they shut right up. It would have been a shame if Nina ended up dating one of them - god knows how they would have treated her.

 

That was what really got me thinking about what was going on in my head. I couldn’t stick it to a girl and a bunch of guys noticed. I already had to be twice as good as the others to be taken seriously and I sure as hell didn’t need to stand out any more than I already did.

I spent a good three hours flipping through stacks of cards in the library for any mention of sex, sexuality, even the dreaded word, homosexuality - until I stumbled across a few leads, including research papers by a Dr. Alfred Kinsey widely known as “The Kinsey Reports”. There was no way in hell I was about to check out a bunch of books on sexology so I stayed up reading late into the night until the librarian kicked me out.

According to Kinsey and the scientists who followed his research, I was X.

A letter and a little blurb: “no socio-sexual contacts or reactions”.

It was something. The problem was I had no idea what X looked like. I didn’t know how to live as X. I probably wouldn’t stand out as a bachelor librarian (and I never have while living in Derry) but it was still confusing if not a little bleak. Who in the hell could even be in love with someone they could never _make_ love to? What kind of person would even consider a relationship like that?

The whole point of this confession is that I'm still X and it influenced a short time in my life between 1958 and now. ↜(( _Before he left for LA, Richie brought up something similar. He pulled his chair a little closer to my bed and told me he was about to leave a “whole bunch of important shit” behind in Derry and it was scaring the hell out of him. Naturally, I asked him “what kind of shit?”_

_Turns out I’m not the only oddball in the Losers Club. I honestly suspect none of us, even Eddie and Stan, were ever entirely "normal". I don't think our situation really allowed for it.))_

 

It happened soon after the locker room and the library. We’d just played a typical Friday game sometime in mid-November. It was dark and freezing outside, but I didn’t feel anything other than intense body heat and an unusual level of exhaustion. My teammates were throwing me weird looks and giving me a lot of space. The coach looked like he was about to pull me aside, but he didn’t. I don't remember much of what happened leading up to that game but I know I wasn't sleeping well and I can't imagine how bad I looked. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I didn't look like hell.

I went through the usual motions: showered quick, dressed quicker, and threw a coat on over this old 1940s letterman jacket I always wore to games (superstitious habit, I guess. I wonder if I still have it.) I was out before anyone else but I left through the side entrance nobody used. Judging by how mean I guess I looked, the guys probably weren’t going to track me down to throw back a few Gansetts but I only cared about sleeping off whatever was wrong with me.

That was a nice night, though. It was a little windy and cold, but that usually made for the brightest-looking stars. _↜((I still go out on nights like that - you can see everything if you're in the right place. It’s kind of a nostalgia thing I guess. I have vivid memories of looking up, crawling out on the roof on clear nights when I was a kid, and getting up early with dad, watching the last few wink out of the sky.))_

“Mikey.”

I hadn’t heard that nickname in years - my mom even stopped using it shortly after my dad passed away. For a moment I thought it was one of the guys trying to get a rise out of me, but that voice didn’t sound like anyone on the team. It was familiar in a good way - a very, very good way.

It was his eyes that gave him away. I remembered his soft brown eyes tirelessly peering through his binoculars, curiously scanning through my books, fixing mine with a long suffering look whenever our friends got too rowdy. That mild presence, his subtle half-smile, his wavy hair that was still lighter on top than it was at the bottom - it was Stan Uris down to a T. He was honestly captivating as a young man. I hadn't seen someone so completely capture the word 'svelte’ before, but Stan was it.

I couldn't even speak, so I hugged him. He and I were both scrawny as kids - Stan was shorter than I was and I think I was within an inch of Big Bill. I shot right up in high school and Stan was almost eye to eye with me that night.

“Holy shit, I wasn't expecting this,” I chuckled. He still smelled the same, clean and a little like mint - the plant, not the flavor. It's odd but I can still remember the way his wool peacoat felt pressed against my cheek. It was a dark navy blue and he looked very handsome in it, characteristically mature. I felt tears coming on just remembering the short time we had together as kids - still do. We were used to having all kinds of slurs hurled at us left and right but we felt safe for once - when it was all of us, anyway. We bonded over books instead. Jesus, what a summer that was.

“I never thought I'd be that interested in a football game,” he replied. Stan (and Eddie) were into baseball if I'm not mistaken. I never got to see him play but I heard he was an amazing outfielder. "Glad I picked the right exit door." His pleasant voice was deeper. I couldn't stop smiling.

“You waiting out here to mug me or something?”

“If you want.” When he smiled, and I mean _really_ smiled, I never really knew what to do with myself. There was always a certain charm about him and I'm not sure if the others ever noticed it. Well, save Beverly - he could make her blush like no one's business if he tried.

It turned out he was sent to collect his cousin for the holiday. He was a freshman so I never would have known him but Stan assured me he was a decent kid - he never would have agreed to make the trip out if he was a little shit, he explained.

We easily fell back into conversation and ended up walking back to my dorm room. He and I never really had a problem finding things to talk about. It was all over the place, things you'd never talk about back to back with anyone but someone you trusted: weird stories from college, updates about our families, albums we were into at the time. I remember a really warm comforting feeling in my chest while I walked side by side with Stan, even when we were talking about my dad. ~~I still feel it sometimes.~~ And Derry never came up, thank God. It was pleasantly cruel in a way. I had no idea I had this friend until he walked right back into my life but then I would go right back to forgetting about him when he left. At least, even for that short time, it was effortless...just like we were kids again.

Stan caught up with his cousin before we ended up back in my room. He was sitting on my bed, leafing through some of my books, looking like he'd always been there. “You're studying library science, then? That's perfect for you.”

We had been drinking what was left in my fridge - cheap lager that went down smooth if anything. Stan apparently preferred the cheap stuff. I was always surprised by how easy-going he was beneath his dry, no-nonsense exterior. God, he was funny, too. “How about you? What are you up to these days, Stan the Man?”

He rolled his eyes. “You're gonna love this -” Stan leaned over to his coat, fishing out a pair of bifocals and placing them at the end of his nose. They made him look older but his mop of hair preserved his youthful charm. “I'm an accountant, Michael.” His mouth twitched. “I'm a walking stereotype,” he said flatly before we went to pieces.

“Is it going well for you?”

Stan sighed loudly, removing his glasses and putting them right back in their designated coat pocket. “Yeah, it's…going great, actually. I'm in Brooklyn right now.”

I still don't understand how anyone could function in a city that large. I'm a small town farm boy to the end, I guess. “I’m happy for you.” Stan gave me this honest, kind look - I wish I could never forget it because remembering it now feels ~~...I don't know~~ I patted his shoulder, fighting back a sly grin. “You’re shoved in with a lot of people - find anyone?” Leave it me, the X, to bring up dating.

He looked down at his hands. At some point, he’d rolled his sleeves up and I stared at his forearms for a beat. Every part of him was beautiful and it was sending me even further through the ringer. Stan had a delinquent sort of look on his face. “Not in particular.”

We were quiet for a minute, but I knew he wanted to say more about it judging by the way he was rubbing his hands together.

“I trust you, Mike.” He said then. I’m so glad I remembered it in his voice because it still feels...well, it’s obvious. I miss it. “I’ve been hiding something for a while and I think getting it out will feel better.”

“Sure, man.”

I had never seen Stan nervous - frightened, yes, but never really unsure of himself, not around us. “I mean, it never goes anywhere, but I’ve,” he paused, but he had a candid smile on his lips. “I’ve slept with both men and women.”

Now, Richie looked flat out shaken when he told me that he was _sure_ he’d been with both, scooted up next to me as close as he could go. Different context, but there was a hint of shame in Richie’s voice. Stan, however, didn’t sound bothered by the idea once it was out in the open. He had little interest in things that were sexual in nature when we were kids. I never cared that much for obvious reasons, but the others had an innate, possibly dangerous curiosity amongst them. Stan was always calm about it. He was a kid and kids weren't supposed to worry about those things. That's not to say he didn't have any sort of romantic interest in anything - he was head-over-heels for Beverly when we were kids. God knew what would've come of that if she met up with him like I did. As an adult, though, Stan slipped right into what was expected of a man his age. He was old enough to have a sexual fixation, so he did and he accepted it.

It was clearly a fixation since he didn’t seem to care about whom or how many he did it with - the idea clearly excited him.

I immediately tried to place him on the Kinsey Scale since it was fresh in my mind. I wasn’t even a value, only a category. “I get you.” He looked curious. “So, do they go anywhere?”

“I don’t wind up wanting to hang out with them afterwards, if that’s what you mean.”

“Weird headspace?” It was a forward question now that I think about it.

He chuckled, almost bitterly. “Yeah. I cycle through 'em. Can't get enough.” I think he was shaking a little and I felt awful about bringing psychology into the conversation.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t ha-”

His shaggy hair fell over his eyes a bit when he shook his head. “Believe me, it feels worse hiding it all the time.” I killed the rest of my beer and cracked a new one. “I’m confused, Mike. I’m trying to figure things out right now.” Weren’t we all. “I just...it’s hard to define it.”

I could have killed him that night if I’d remembered when we were kids in the sewers, what he saw, how terrified he was. Instead, I did it this year. It doesn’t matter what the others said when we were together. It’s still my fault that he never had a chance. I won’t stop blaming myself for it until the last of my memories slip away. It sounds so pathetic but I felt nervous about making the calls. I felt awful about it. Maybe some stupid part of me just wanted to hear his voice again. He slashed those little cuts into our palms and I never forgot it ~~\- I just thought that maybe~~

“I think I’m scared of being alone.” Stan crushed his empty beer can in his fist and gently set it in the wastebasket. Even at the time, I sort of knew why - it hovered at the front of my mind but my own thin, static-y memories weren’t clear enough to articulate. I remember being scared for him.

We played on the stacked hay bales sometimes. Richie and I jumped down from the highest one, landing in the loose hay pile laughing our asses off. Stan went to the top exactly once. He hated heights, but he tried anyway - I felt how scared he was and it terrified me, even as a kid of 11. He climbed back down with his knees quivering and we hugged him as tight as we could. I think that was why I hugged him when we were sitting on my bed. That may have been why he leaned so heavily into me. We were jagged, but I never believed that old "I was drunk, I don’t remember" excuse. Everything deep down and the hurt from remembering that we’d been alone without everyone else was too real.

He sniffed and it brought tears to my eyes. “I’m doing everything else right, but I’m so fucking sad.”

That was our condition. All of us felt it. I didn’t want to say that to him but, even though I didn't understand it until I moved back here, I knew it was the truth. We needed each other but our connection and everything that came with it was lost in favor of success and material wealth. We had a job to do and that was why we were together. I know it became more than that. It was why I started drinking not long after I moved back home.

“I still love all of you,” Stan’s nose was red and his eyes were hazy from crying. “I don’t think I can really get over it...even though I can't even remember your faces.”

“We had something rare. I don’t know if we’ll have it again but,” making sense was difficult. “I’m glad I got be friends with you, man.” My inhibitions were loosened enough that I stroked his wavy, sandy locks back from his forehead. His arms were still around my waist and it felt nice. I liked affectionate gestures, they made sense to me. “I want you to be happy, Stanley. Seriously.”

He hid his face against my chest like a kid and I felt his tears seep through the fabric of my shirt. The short-lived nature of our meeting had settled over us both and it seemed like Stan was hiding from it. He was our voice of reason but his sensitive nature easily overtook him and it was so hard to watch. The stress he felt in ‘58 would never leave him but the support we gave him did.

He was still crying when he kissed me. It felt strange at the time - I didn’t feel panic or uncertainty like I did with Nina. I wasn’t worried about disappointing Stan because I honestly loved him - still do. All I cared about right then was being there for him, supporting him however he needed me to. His hands skimmed over my chest and shoulders, down to my thighs, between them, and I did the same to him. He showed me what he needed and I gave it to him.

My condition of X, my state of being, was still present and I was trying to define myself at first. The way he touched me could have felt pointless with anyone else, but I felt nothing but love from him and decided I wouldn’t mind being with him or doing anything for him, really. It was if he’d realized the inverse with me. That didn’t hit me until now, honestly.

He was slim and a bit lanky straddled over me but we fit together somehow. Stan slowly pulled his lips away from mine and sat back for a second. His eyes were _dark_ , hooded more than usual, and he had a deep color in his cheeks. It was desire. I never really experienced it or thought of myself as desirable, but his came off so intensely that I began to feel it myself. Stanley Uris really was beautiful.

His chest rose and fell slowly and I could feel him hard through his pants close to my stomach. “I love you, Mike.” Stan’s voice wavered a little.

That was what I remembered first. That was what brought all of this on. He’s gone and I had forgotten that we’d become so close, that I told him I loved him.

 

Stan didn't leave my room that night. We ended up sharing my bed and we were only able to fit because he was slim and had draped himself over me. It wasn't much warmer inside than out so I didn't mind it. ~~Jesus, the thought of having that more than once...~~ It took us hours to fall asleep because we couldn't stop talking. We had both sobered up, but nothing really changed the way we behaved. He touched me and kissed me and I was fine with it. I liked holding him and stroking his hair. Before I drifted off, for some reason, I wondered if Eddie and Beverly were still the shortest of us.

I don't remember much after that, but I think it snowed. I don't remember saying goodbye to him. Maybe we never said those words...I hope we didn’t.

I'm glad that no one saw me when I figured out why he didn't come with the others.

 

I never told Stan or the others about X. I didn't need to. Maybe it would have helped, I don't know. I have a feeling this will disappear as quickly as I wrote it. Maybe writing it down will make it a little easier to remember but ignorance may very well be bliss. All of us are suffering our own special brand of amnesia and we're stuck between wanting to remember and wanting to forget. I'm hoping it ends quickly for the others. I just have to push through the pain for another few days until Stan and Eddie fade from my mind…then Bevvie, Ben, and Richie…and Bill when he finally sorts things out. They'll all be gone.

Our bonds may not die when things run their course. _Maybe_ we'll still have something even though we did what we were meant to do. I have to wonder if I'd ever be able to recognize them again. I'd like to think it would happen with a voice or a glance, but who knows what has been decided for us. I only hope that it's kind, whatever it is.

 

I'm a little worried that I've given myself carpal tunnel. It might be a good time to ask for morphine.

\----

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a challenge because I usually don’t write in first person, but I felt that was the easiest way to get into Mike’s head since I’ve never written in his POV. I definitely want to do more with him because there’s just not enough Mike. What a good dude.
> 
> I kind of ignored the bit where Mike only plays football in high school and never leaves Derry (I actually have no idea if he went to college in the area or whatever. Not all librarians at that time had Bachelor's degrees, so I'm just kind of confused. I HOPE he got to go to college, the smarty pants). His leg wasn't broken, it's all good.
> 
> I originally read Mike as asexual/volcel so I really wanted to explore how that would affect him having a closer relationship with Stan. Their relationship is way subtle in the novel which is a nice challenge, but also an opportunity to fill in some blanks. Part of the reason I keep writing the group as young adults is to draw more attention to the depth of their “amnesia” and use that to flesh out their interactions. It usually turns into porn, but I have no self-control I'M SORRY.
> 
> I mostly used the old label for asexual since folks hadn't really started claiming it during the time period. I think Mike may have just kept the term since it was easier but I'm certain he knew about asexuality as an adult.
> 
> It’s important to understand that any sexual label or way of living is going to vary from person to person, so YES, some ace folx have sex and I’m not trying to force it or be gross. It’s a big reason I get really ticked off when LGBTQIA* characters are written The Same based on their label. Also stereotyping *cough*Stan&Eddie*cough* but hey. 
> 
> The title is from “Staring at the Sun” by TV on the Radio. One of my favorites. It’s about dying and there’s a ton of sexual metaphors thrown in (because...dying). There’s also a lot of drowning/water imagery which I associate with Stan for multiple reasons, but yeah. The lyrics are fucking amazing.


End file.
